An Annabelle Tale

I sat in the dirt stroking the silky fur on the head of a darling little calf.  My hand was stroking, but my mind was wandering to the day before when this precious calf earned  the title of Annabelle Rae The Stray.

Word had reached my ears there was a lost calf near a large mud bog at the bottom of a coulee.  "Just north east of here, where four roads come together at a big mud pit."  I knew the place.  Soon my Subaru Forester was bumping its way down an old dirt road to complete what was quite possibly mission impossible.  

Step 1: Figure out which way the calf could have wandered from the pit.

Step 2: Actually find the calf, being sure to check all the old cow trails that go deep into the bushes.

Step 3: Somehow get the calf to follow me back to my car.

Step 4: Manage to get the calf back to the barn.

Step 5: Get the calf fed and watered and comfortable.

I parked my car and began wandering down a trail for about 1/4 mile.  "Hey baby! Come one!" I called in hopes that the sweet baby would start making some noise.  I stopped for a moment to look around and listen.  Listen for faint mooing, bawling, bushes rustling, anything; but there was nothing.  I turned around to follow a different trail.  About 1/2 mile down the new trail I had a feeling she was close; At some point along the trek I had assumed that the calf would be a girl.  And there she was.

I almost didn't believe it was her. . . she looked like a small dark shadow crumpled up and forgotten about amongst the shrubbery.  Soon I was by her side, stroking her back in an attempt to calm her down.  Her feeble structure stood up slowly and I almost immediately felt her whole body try to jolt forward down the trail.  I held her frail frame gently but firm and spoke to her in soft tones as my body guided hers towards my car.

I examined her as we walked.  She was moving slowly, but she was progressing in the right direction.  Eventually my car came in to view and it made the calf nervous but I was able to gradually coax her up to my open trunk.  Now for the hard part.  I crouched down beside her and said "Hey Annie. . . Is that what you want to be called? Annabelle?" She brought her head in close to my chest and held it there contently.  I took that response as a yes.  "Okay miss Annabelle.  I want to help you.  We need to get you loaded in my car and then I need you to lay still while I take you back to the barn.  We'll get you some hay, water, and a nice bottle of milk.  I'm going to pick you up now and I need you to be calm."  I spoke these things softly into her ear.  Next I bent down and gently lifted the delicate 90 lb. baby into the back of my Subaru (easier said than done I might add).  Annabelle laid down without any trouble and we were off.

Carefully I drove up and down the dirt roads until we reached the barn entrance.  I got the sweet calf unloaded and allowed her to explore the barn while I prepared some water and a bottle for her.  Originally I had intended on setting her up for the night in the barn, but she insisted on camping in one of the corrals outside, so that is where she stayed.  Annabelle wasn't interested in much water, but she happily guzzled down 1/2 bottle of milk once she realized what it was.  I could hear the liquid rushing through her body as if she were a hollow container.  My heart broke as I pictured her all alone in the coulee without anything to eat.  My theory suggested that Annabelle had wandered back to the coulee after we had trailed the rest of the herd through on a warm Thursday morning.  I found her back in the bottom on a cool Sunday evening.  Judging by her week stature and large appetite I would  estimate she was nearing starvation.  I spent several hours by Annabelle's side that evening and eventually left her with a pat on the head and a small pile of hay.

I returned the next day with bottle in hand to find Annabelle standing near the edge of the corral.  She was glad to receive some company, but I became concerned when she was having difficulty drinking her bottle.  Our animal care intern came over and discovered that sweet Annabelle had a respiratory infection and a maggot problem.  We quickly called in some antibiotics from the vet and treated her with an iodine solution for the maggots.  These procedures would mean Annabelle Rae would need to be removed from our organic program, due to the use of milk replacer and antibiotics.  We had to leave Annabelle to rest after some treatments so we could move cows, and came back to check on her several hours later.

Quietly I crawled over the wooden fence and saw Annabelle resting peacefully in a shady spot of the corral.  My feet moved towards her, and my mind was beginning to note subtle differences in her appearance.  Her lungs were no longer gasping for air.  Her eyes were no longer gazing off into the other corrals.  Her tail was to longer batting the flies away.  My feet carried me closer, my hands touched her cold, stiff body and my heart was filled with sorrow.  I sat in the dirt stroking the silky fur on the head of a darling little Annabelle Rae; but she was no more.  My younger sister and I fastened her remains onto the back of a four-wheeler and drove her away from the corrals.  I untied the old baling twine which kept her body steady and gently laid her amongst the wildflowers; as gently as one can lay a 90 lb. baby in a bone pile.   

Sometimes life hands you lemons.  Best cascenario you make lemonade, but occasionally you've got to pucker up and chug the juice.  Was Annabelle's story a glass of lemonade, or a sucker face shot? 

It depends on your perspective.